


To Ride The Storm Is To Brave The Seas

by applesandpears



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-27
Updated: 2009-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applesandpears/pseuds/applesandpears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some secrets are meant to be kept, some are misapprehended, but nearly always they cause anger and misunderstandings. They can cause fear and insecurity; they prompt lies, mistruths and other deceptions. They can be what someone wants to hear, but in the end that is what hurts most of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Ride The Storm Is To Brave The Seas

**Author's Note:**

> Look if you really want to flame then do, but to be honest there is the pretty ‘X’ button waiting for you...

_**Declassified File for Silver Queen**_  
 **Author:** Mad Mogg  
 **Recipient:** Silver Queen  
 **Title:** To Ride The Storm Is To Brave The Seas  
 **Pairing(s):** Hmm, I think there is a slightly implied ‘something’ between Ian and Jack, but I’m not sure if it is noticeable. There are also the normal ones, you know like this guy and his wife, that kind of pairing, and I think Alex is a bit of a hint there was something going on between Helen and John.  
 **Summary:** Some secrets are meant to be kept, some are misapprehended, but nearly always they cause anger and misunderstandings. They can cause fear and insecurity; they prompt lies, mistruths and other deceptions. They can be what someone wants to hear, but in the end that is what hurts most of all.  
 **Rating:** T, it was going to be a K+. Darn.  
 **Disclaimer:** All Alex Rider characters herein are the property of Anthony Horowitz , Walker Books and the Penguin Group. No copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Warning(s):** I don’t really think there are any.  
 **Word Count:** 5,757 words, which is pretty good for me.  
 **Author's Notes:** Look if you really want to flame then do, but to be honest there is the pretty ‘X’ button waiting for you...

I wrote some of this on a sugar high...

My parents were sad enough to actually force me to write it and my mum told be off for becoming distracted but at least it is finished. ^_^

My mother tells me that using ‘Sugar High’ makes it seem as if I’m on some kind of drug, which I’m not. Well caffeine is a drug, so maybe.

TO RIDE THE STORM IS TO BRAVE THE SEAS

Ian strode out of the Royal and General Head Quarters, fuming at the said people inside. He whipped out his keys and unlocked his shiny black BMW, before flinging the door open, climbing in and slamming it shut one with an air of fury remarkably unlike his usual calm front.

Calm fronts were important to anyone in the job; they saved lives, but that mattered little do the brown haired man as he jammed the keys into the ignition, started the engine and drove out of the car bay, growling at the hordes of people who had deliberately got into his way to do their shopping, fools the lot of them.

This could all be conspiracy from them, from those people, if you could call them that, how dare they keep something this important to themselves. He was family for Christ’s sake, not that he believed in God; he’d given up on the man long ago, back then.

Yes, he knew that they were perfectly within their legal rights to keep this to themselves; he had known that long ago when he had signed up, it didn’t make it any fairer. No, now that he was needed on a mission, or rather the paper work for the mission, it was alright to tell him.

He knew it was not Gibberson’s fault that he had not been allowed to tell him even though he had known for many months; he knew that if it had been the other way around he would have done the same.

He didn’t really want to know the truth, or he wanted to know it but he wanted it to be less true, softer perhaps; less harsh. He thought as he swerved around the corner, causing the nearby cars to honk loudly, Ian swore at them under his breath, as if he had time for such stuck up prats who didn’t even have enough problems in their lives to make a teaspoon of salt.

The truth was rarely, if ever soft and sweet, it was almost a lie, after all anyone would sooner see a lie than a truth; people gave their lives so that others could see their falsified visions. It was fine when it was another made up person, another case, with a person you would probably never meet, unless the person you happened to save was a prime minister or president or their family, then they might thank you and give you a medal- under a code name, your face hidden beneath a mask. There was a rumour that they might abolish the code name system. Whereas the ‘back up’ recycled the code names, they made up new ones. Which meant that they did have some of the most ridiculous names, for instance some poor men had seen the nightfall calling each other carrot and cabbage.

His brother had escaped that, been assigned another, but nothing was infallible, nothing.

He’d known he was losing his brother, and he had honestly thought he would never see his nephew again, but it was for the best. He’d known his brother would never write a letter or share a laugh with him. He’d known his nephew would never know of him, that he’d never know the truth; after all ignorance is bliss.

That man had betrayed them, although maybe it would have been worse if he had stayed as an emissary, from within working his way out and down, like a mole; only uglier.

His brother had saved him and that was what he had done in return. He’d hoped that the sacrifice meant that his brother would live a long and full life as a fisherman; they had gone fishing many a time before, when they were young their father used to take them out every Sunday. Well every Sunday he was there, otherwise they would go out with their uncle and his son Peter. Peter had gone and joined the army. That was the last of him, Uncle and Aunt had died in a mysterious accident some years later.

Their father called it the unspeakable Rider curse. Ian had laughed at that at the time. Three days later he was found dead, whoever it was, foul, horrid, disgusting. They were messed up. How people could do that was beyond Ian’s comprehension, and Ian had done a fair few things in his time. Cannibalism was not on the list, nor was it going to be anytime soon, even some of the higher-ups in Scorpia weren’t that bad.

Quickly he phoned John’s old partner Crawley, and arranged to meet up - of course the dratted babysitter would want to come, and although she was a good person, she had a tendency to be on the nosy side.

Miss Nancy was one of those nanny type persons, the sort in books. She was strict on her rules and never wrong, ever.

Miss Nancy was a woman of her mid-fifties, with greying hair and a horrid sense of fashion. She was loved by the older more rigid families in the area and frown upon by the more modern ones. It was rather ironic that she cared for the young boy of two millionaires and yet still scorned upon him. One had been a nurse and the other had been a very good banker. Yes had is the right word, how dare you even insinuate the Miss Nancy was wrong for even a moment.

The boy’s parents were dead; a plane crash had seen the last of them. Not even enough of them left to be put six foot under, although considering the plane had been overseas at the time they could well be in that deep.

Miss Nancy was paid far too much to care for the young orphan, whose uncle was never about. He was another banker, the same type of gambler as the boy’s father. No one knew anything of his mother’s family, and if they did, they daren’t say so.

“Eat all of your bacon,” she snapped as the boy pushed it around his plate with an air of absentmindedness. “Well boy? I meant now, not next year you know.”

He did not even sigh as he speared the meat under Miss Nancy’s watchful eyes, chewing with the care that Miss Nancy demanded he munched his way through the rest of his meal.

“Now boy, do you know where we are going to-day?”

“No Miss Nancy, I do not, May I ask where we are going?” He asked wide eyed, perhaps wondering why the day was not dedicated to irregular French verbs as a Friday normally was. Having just arrived back from Spain in late November he was not due to start back at school until the second week in January. For some bizarre reason Ian wanted Alex to go to a Private school until he was eleven, then go into a state school, something about learning different walks of lives. As if the boy would ever truly learn how to have fun or miss somebody. He didn’t act nor think like a child his age.

“You just did, you foolish boy.”

“Sorry Miss Nancy.”

There was no glee or sorrow, or guilt or embarrassment; it was blank. What hope did this boy have in the commoner’s world, where class or manners did not seem to hold the respect they deserved?

“I shall inform you anyway, we shall be headed to a cafe in the City of London, right by the River Thames if I am correct.”

“Yes, Miss Nancy,” The monotone sounded back. Really he needed a better speaking voice, and how on earth was he going to hold any sway in this world if he insisted in yammering on in such dull tones?

“Right, well boy, have your shoes on and we shall go.”

“Yes Miss Nancy.”

At least once they arrived at the modern and welcoming yet extortionately priced cafe, there was decent company.

After a while of polite yet inquisitive conversation Miss Nancy had learnt a fair amount of information to be stored away in her head.

Edward was clearly a bright boy of fourteen, he studied and he knew a lot, such hard work stole time from his exercise, which was almost as much as a shame as the fact he went to a plebeian school; but at least he had an inviting voice and more complex vocabulary than the boy, who seemed to thrive off of his almost patented “Yes Miss Nancy.” And when the situation arose “No Miss Nancy” was also added to the basic conversation.

Edward was the son of a banker, no, not from the Royal and General Bank, but instead, Mr H. Crawley was a banker for Nationwide, a competitive rival of Royal and General Bank. His mother was a housewife, and his sister was studying Law and hoped to become a forensic scientist for the metropolitan police force.

It seemed that she was unfortunate enough to meet the ugly duckling, the one who ruined the seemingly perfect family, Mr J. Crawley; one of Ian’s colleague. He was a cold Ian-type person, minus the looks and dress sense.

Now whilst Miss Nancy was hardly ‘Miss America’ she could see good clothes a mile off, not that she told the average person that of course. After all it would not be fit for her age group to be seen as modern. Not to mention the fact that she was old enough to be his mother. That was another problem with the ever-modernizing world, in her day once the man was out of his service he could be married, not faffing around until he was thirty like some of these hoodlums seemed to think was suitable nowadays.

Despite this man’s cool front he had chosen to care for his nephew, only for the weekend mind you, but even so it was still somewhat queer.

After a while, Edward and the boy went off to play in the garden outside, football they said. It seemed Alex knew how to play. Perhaps he might one day be able to pass off a half decent front. Maybe there was just the slimmest bit of hope for him out there.

The boy was most certainly not the most trusting person out there and despite this ‘new’ side of him, she very much suspected that Ian had ‘encouraged’ him to get along with Edward, for he did and right away.

So whilst they were out playing ‘footie’ as Edward had called it as he ran over to the garden to play, the adults were discussing new banking techniques, or whatever it was that bankers nattered about when they had free time, in hushed voices, until of course they got moved into their private room.

Miss Nancy had never known Ian to meet up with colleague before. It was somewhat out of character. However, as much as she longed to find out, nature called and off to the lavatory she rushed, only to find herself by the gents. Apparently the ladies was on the opposite side of the building she was told, so there she headed.

A short while later Miss Nancy emerged from the toilets, looking as pristine as she had when she entered, and went off to find where the men were talking. Not that she was something as scummy as a gossip-monger, no; she just had a healthy interest in the business of those around her.

Miss Nancy crept up to the door and pressed a glass to the door and her ear to the glass, listening as best as she could she tried to make sense of what was being said.

“...fia...more of a joke...bombs...new target...Scorpion...now they want...revenge...might...have to... eliminate them...”

What was this? An infestation of Scorpions at the bank. Scorpions didn’t normally live in banks in London, but if it was a prank of some sort... perhaps from someone who wanted their jobs, oh she did hope they didn’t get fired in their revenge, although she did hope they were sensible enough to eliminate the horrid little creatures first. Bombs? What was it with people and stink bombs these days? Miss Nancy tutted, and only milliseconds after she did so the door flew open, the glass smashed into a million shards and she was faced with two very angry faces. Ian’s was quickly morphed into shock and then wiped clear of emotion, a blank sheet which was a empty as the canvas of Mr J. Crawley’s.

What happened after that was confusing, but she knew that she was never allowed to tell a soul. She must keep the dirty little secrets of the bank silent. No one wanted scorpions in the bank they invested their money in, she reasoned grumpily, awfully bad for the business such news would be.

One again her mind slipped back to the mystery of Mrs. Rider’s family. There are those who knew, she guessed, and Ian must be one of them, but much to Miss Nancy’s chagrin she was not amongst them. That most curious thing happened, the conversation. It was all an unexplainable puzzle, a mind boggling thing, only with so many of the pieces missing she could not tell how much she knew or how it fitted, or even why it fitted in. She knew that whatever it was, she stopped being the ‘mother’ of the young boy, who appreciated but didn't love. He never once seemed to ponder upon the whereabouts of his uncle, and he appeared to completely disregard it. What happened after that was confusing, but she knew that she was never allowed to tell a soul, she must keep the dirty little secrets of the bank silent. No one Scorpions in their bank she reasoned grumpily, awful bad for the business such news would be.

It was a much more curious story than she knew...

\--

Alex never heard of Miss Nancy again, not that he cared; the silly old bat imposed the stupidest of rules known to mankind. Like not waking up before six to practice karate; Ian always allowed him to, and even encouraged it. Clearly Miss Nancy had no idea of what normal people did. Who woke up after nine on a Sunday? Miss Nancy always said that he should, the lazy woman.

Needless to say, Alex loved the freedom of a Miss Nancy-less world, or at least, his world, if not the wide one. As young children often are Alex was rather reluctant to let this new ‘Jack’ person into his life. He appeared to be shy at first, however after a few hours he could not deny that she had a fun loving personality, and despite the fact she had horrendous pronunciation, she quite made up for that with her hilarious tales of idiocy. Alex decided that it must be an American trait, for he had never met anyone who was even nearly as relaxed, not even Mrs Richardson from school.

Jack was unlike Miss Nancy in every possible way. The latter was as boring as her greying hair. Jack was vibrant, a good old laugh, and hated cooking. She would only cook food which took more than 10 minutes to make on rare occasions, like when Ian had managed to stay home for three whole weeks in a row!

Jack taught him how to cook meals that were more for enjoying that survival, things Ian had never seen necessary to teach him on their many adventures across the globe, quite literally.

There were other times, times which Alex taught Jack things- like rounders, although she had spent most of the time complaining about how baseball was completely awesome and that rounders was so mediocre in comparison, or something to that effect.

Jack introduced Alex to an array of things which Miss Nancy had deemed pointless or crass; beyond mathematics, the old bag was somewhat useless. Jack taught him new words and how to speak in her accent- something Ian encouraged, despite Jack’s initial hesitancy. She taught him why one might laugh at stupid things and how to grin properly, instead of the slight twitch of the lips or the occasional small hesitant smile, something he seemed to have copied from Ian.

Jack taught him that bullies were wrong and no amount of karate could change that fact, that it didn’t matter that his parent’s were long dead, and that he could hug Ian on those rare occasions he was home.

Ian suddenly started coming home just a tiny bit more often, and usually within a month or two of when he said he would return.

Jack had them put up photos around the house, photos in which Alex could see the cheesy grins and humorous events every time he passed them on his way around the house.

The quality of Alex’s school work improved and the once quiet but helpful boy became another one of those terrors, a helpful and kind terror, but a menace none the less.

The pictures started to show a young boy with a beam shining on his face as he sat between Jack and Ian on the plane to France (instead of the serious or forced smile of the other picture, many of which were passable until you compared them to a true smile. Jack loved the change in him; the cold look on such a youthful face was off putting). However, the picture had been taken in mid-July and from looking at it one would not be able to see a trace of the mask which had been abandoned. They had been on their way to the French Alps, to rock climb, and that was an adventure for them all.

Another advantage of Jack over Miss Nancy was that Jack was cool.

 _Alex shrieked with laughter as he bounced down the rock surface; abseiling was more fun than the strenuous drag up. Jack had found the whole thing hilarious and Ian was currently trying to steady her, getting hit in the face by her hair as he did so._

 _“H-hard work this,” Jack choked out between gasps of air._

 _“Rather,” Ian replied in a bored tone._

 _Alex wanted to know if this was harder than the awfully boring work which Ian was always going off to do. After all it was a most curious subject, Jack was rather curious herself. Alex knew that it was so boring his Uncle did not want to talk about it. Jack was not so sure, and now was as good a time as ever._

 _“Ian, is this harder than your work?” Alex asked, injecting the perfect amount of curiosity into his voice. It took much prompting from Jack as the boy seemed scared of the response, or at least the reaction._

 _“Well, Alex, my work is boring and long, but there are some of the more practical things, an example being speeches that can be harder than this because you never truly know how they will be received. On the occasions we have fitness competitions, I need to make sure that I am on my top form; all that traveling can really take its toll on you. Some of the task we are set, to make sure we are really fit, are both exhilarating and nerve wracking, in case you fail. They are difficult, but undeniably thrilling. Somewhat addictive even,” Ian told them, catching Jack’s eye once or twice, perhaps knowing that she wanted to know the answer as much as the tiny blond child. His blue eyes gleamed as he did so, and he had an almost wistful smile as he finished. Although what it was about, Jack couldn’t tell._

 _Yet she found it difficult to think straight. She decided it must be the breathtaking landscape which surrounded, the tranquility floating around, with only the slightest bit of breeze brushing past them. The golden sun shone in the brilliantly blue sky, reflecting off of the snowy mountain tops. They were all part of this peaceful world, this warping of truth. Whoever said that ignorance is bliss knew what they were talking about. Yes, the untruths and falsities were safer than the harsh truths Jack knew were out there, ones that would break her sleep and replay in her mind and steal her smile, her sunshine, her heart._

 _However, regardless of how one might hope, there is only so long even the most stunning sights can silence even the most appreciative of seven year-olds._

 _“Eeeeyan, how long do you think it will take to get to there?” The moment was broken, as Alex asked his questions and pointed off into the distance._

 _“Well if you were to...”_

 _Another Rider conversation commenced, and once again Jack stood by to take the photo, of Alex nodding cheerfully as Ian did a demonstration._

The picture had been put up in the loft, so that one day, someone might stumble across it. Or at least that is what Jack had come to the conclusion of, after all why would one store something so far up, in a secret and special place?

Alex was at a football match, the soccer type. It was a school match and they were playing Westminster Infant School. Jack smiled cheerfully as she thought of this and swished her hair about as she danced to a song on Heart Radio she had never heard before, but had a catchy beat. If questioned later, she would swear blindly that the knife-waving had in fact been her buttering sandwiches for Alex to eat.

Ian was very choosy when it came to her making sandwiches. It was something Jack was almost sure he lost sleep over- he seemed that particular about it. He would have her make them from sealed ingredients and then use a clean, sterile knife to butter them, and then, finally, they would have to be sealed in plastic bags - ones that could not be resealed - and although this wasn’t green Jack was not about to go against his word. Not when her father had demanded the same thing when she was younger.

Jack wasn’t sure where these bags could be bought from as she had never seen them in any store or market, super or otherwise. Alex liked to correct her, a store was actually a ‘shop’ he would tell her complete with a toothy smile.

She had long since come to the conclusion that people who worked in jobs which frequently kept them away from home for long periods of time were given the bags like sweeties as one of those odd things business men sometimes do instead of just handing out the pay checks. Her father had done some very similar things to Ian, and he still was very insistent on some of the most bizarre rules, even now, long after he had retired. These strange procedures had been carried out by those of her father’s colleagues, out of the ones she had met of course; she had been encouraged to socialise with many of them and their offspring at the many dos she had been dragged along to as a child.

Having finished packing by now she pulled the bag onto her shoulder, flicked the switch on the socket and...

DING DONG

DING DONG

... The doorbell rang throughout the otherwise quite house, the only other noise coming from the adverts on the radio. She jumped. Then, frowning ever so slightly, she thought of who might be visiting, the list was remarkably short and after eliminating several of the neighbours, Jack came up blank. The postman and the paper boy had both already been by and pushed their letters though the door.

Jack had always been quite rebellious and with a slightly thrilling feeling coursing through her she shrugged any insecurities aside and went to open the vast white door.

As she unbolted the top and bottom, she forced aside any feeling of hesitancy: after all it might only be a sales man who had ignored the sticker on the outside of the door., no-one to worry about. She chose not to look through the peep hole. After all that would spoil the fun.

She pulled aside the middle lock and turned the handle, almost as if in slow motion, like it was a game, not similar to the ones Ian and Alex would play by a long shot, but a game none the less. As she swinging the door open, letting the sunlight through, she noticed the dark-skinned, fairly good-looking man. He appeared to be around the same age as Ian and had the same blank face, yet there was something ever so slightly sinister about the way he held himself. There was something, she wasn’t sure what or why, but she knew it was there. She knew there was something really wrong with this man and didn't want him to know her thoughts. After all he could be high on something she told herself. Although she couldn’t smell a trace of dope, the smell of cigarettes almost came off the man in waves.

Despite seeming so similar, he seemed different from the things that Ian and her father had in common, what was it... regret maybe?

She was now sure there was something really off about this man, but she dared not to run, even though her instincts screamed at her to slam the door in his face and run far, far away, as far as her legs would take her.

Instead she forced a smile and said “Hello, who are you?”

She half expected him to say “Your worst nightmare”, as if it were some cheesy movie and not a reality. Perhaps her brain hadn’t quite caught up with her body, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she did not want to be there. Whilst thinking, she missed his response.

“Sorry, I-I missed that,” she stuttered. Good heavens Alex was better at this than she was.

The man narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, giving him an even more menacing look than before. “I’m ASH, Alex’s god-father, I... was... busy, I have work that keeps me away you see.” He gave her a crooked smile, “So I came to see him.” The man, Ash had a voice as cold as his face, like ice, only it seemed not to melt, regardless of the heat of the house.

Just by looking at him she could tell that he was not the sort of person Alex would readily trust, not at all.

“Ah, well, he is... occupied at the moment,” Jack told him, half muttering, trying to be careful with her answer so as not to give anything away.

“Will he be back anytime soon?” The man had a slight Australian twang in his voice

“No, he is very busy and will not be free for a while, unfortunately.” Jack doubted the man would fall for it, even if it was somewhat truthful. Even so, she hoped he would not see through her flimsy excuse.

It wasn’t a complete lie as he really was playing football. Then Jack quickly tried to shake such thoughts from her head, just in case by some odd chance this man was a mind reader.

Or maybe he was hypnotic, and if she thought such things she would be lured into the trap of eyeliner-coated eyes and golden coins on chains. She tried to come up with another topic. One would be surprised how difficult it is to do such a thing on the spot, under stress. Hurriedly, she tried to direct the conversation away from Alex.

“So what do you work as?” She asked him, trying to control her voice as best as she could.

It was hardly the best choice of questions, but it would have to do. After all she was now too nervous to actually come up with something halfway decent.

She did wonder ever so slightly what he might say. After all, he didn’t look like a gym instructor, or an estate agent, or an ASDA’s isle stocker. If anything he looked like he might have escaped from a nutty house.

Not that it would really surprise her. Too many insane people were being let out on the streets, and obviously, it was not such a big issue in Chelsea as it was in places in the east and south of London.

“Ah, a banker, you wouldn’t know of it. Used to work for the Royal and General, but then I transferred to an Australian a while back,” the man replied gruffly. “Well, I’m in a hurry, so I’ll be off,” and with that the man about turned and strode off down the pathway, without a backwards glance.

The suddenness of it all made Jack blink. What kind of person came to visit someone they hadn’t seen in years with only a few minutes to spare? Alarm bells started ringing, after all this was rather odd. Panic seemed have started to eat away at her insides.

Quickly she pulled out her cell phone- or mobile as Alex would correct her, and fumbled with the keys, completely forgetting about the speed dial.

After a few moments which seemed like hours she got through to a rather grumpy sounding Ian, not that she’d ever say that to his face.

“Reason for you call” He demanded.

“Um... well you see” How was she supposed to tell him this, her face burnt red.

“This had better be important” Ian really wasn’t helping Jack with her nerves.

“SomemanstoppedbyandhesaidhewasAlex’sgodfathersoIcalledyoubecauseIthoughtyoumightwanttoknowandheseemedreallyweirdbutandhedidn’tevenstayaroundforverylongatall.”

There, it was out, Jack took a deep breath.

“Pardon?” Oh, he hadn’t understood why. Was whatever deity there was up there not listening? “Well?” Jack scowled. Well if God thought she was going to church any time soon he had another thing coming.

“There was this man,” Jack started again, trying to make sure there was enough space between the words and that they were not coming at a tremendously fast speed. It wouldn’t do to further annoy Ian, not when there was an entirely serious matter to be discussed and he seemed unwilling to listen properly. Obviously Jack knew that he was thinking over what she said, but it might be nicer if he at least acted as though he was interested or even just attentive would do, clearly that was too much to ask. Men.

“I don’t care about your dating habits whilst I am at work.”

If Jack had been in any other frame of mind she might have wondered why he might care about her dating habits when he was out of work. After all Ian was always insisting that it was not only the way people said things, but what was said, down to the precise order of the words, the exact meanings and variants of every word. Alex was improving at this, Jack was somewhat hopeless. She was a woman, not a dictionary after all.

“Well would it be possible for you to take a break?” Jack asked, trying desperately to hang onto the tiny bit of calmness that she had left.

“No, you signed up for the job,” Ian snapped back

“I did not sign up for some creepy man to come and knock on the door, I signed up for...” Jack’s shrieking was cut off by Ian’s next sentence.

“Creepy man?” Ian seemed to be humouring her now, but she could just about hear the underlying tension woven carefully into the two words.

“Y-yes” Jack was suddenly nervous again; perhaps she had picked up on Ian’s undertones.

“Do you know what his name was?” There was the Ian she knew, as direct as ever.

“H-he said his name was Ash” Jack was greeted with a pause.

“Is he still there?” The answer finally came.

“No, I told him Alex was busy.”

“Right, and where is Alex?” It was almost like an interrogation from the movies.

“He’s at soccer, I was going to watch.”

“Well you carry on, tell him if you want to, I’ll sort out ASH.” And with that the line went dead, Jack felt as though a boulder had been lifted from her shoulders, and even though she knew the situation was no better than moments before, she couldn’t help but feel that Ian would fix it, because Ian always had done, and always would do.

Fixing things was one of the few things he could be relied on for. He was odd and the career of a banker didn’t really suit him... a gust of wind blew some rain through the open door, bringing Jack back to reality. Taking a few deep breaths she stepped out of the door, and almost closed it. Then she remembered that the keys were needed, and the food.

Back in she went, grabbed them, double-locked the door and reassured herself that Ian would straighten everything out.

When she finally arrived at the football match she had almost crashed three times. However, she was able to see the last few moments and a spectacular goal from Alex, bringing the score up to six-three. It always seemed that kids got higher scores the younger they were.

As the whistle blew and the kids cheered she smiled, and then as if they were cannons just fired they pelted themselves towards their parents.

Alex seemed slightly unsure, so she opened her arms. It seemed that he understood that she didn’t mind, and so she was attacked by a blond blur, he launched himself into her arms and she picked him up and spun him around, before lowering him slightly and tickling him mercilessly, ignoring all of his choked our protests in favour of the delighted squeals.

Perhaps, she wondered many years into the future, if that was when she started to worm her way into his heart, easing her way through the tough, cold outer coat - the cloak which was made for stopping secrets from coming out rather than letting the lies get into him. Yet he could repel them, send them off with as much believability as it had seemed when he was told. Yes, lies were his coat, but his body was his heart, the hardest and weakest part of him. But maybe that ‘weakness’ was what kept him going. There had to be something to come home to after all.

Maybe it was coincidental that Ian died coming home, that he was returning, coming back. But maybe just maybe it was a message from above telling that there was always a reason to come home, regardless of what what the expense might be.

  
A/N: I absolutely hate Miss Nancy and did rather want to kill her.</i>


End file.
